


The Inspector, the shrink and a giant douchenozzle.

by lia_bezdomny



Series: The Squirrel and his Goldfish. [7]
Category: Mystrade - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg is so done but not really, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mystrade is everything, There will be fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8595412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lia_bezdomny/pseuds/lia_bezdomny
Summary: “As your psychiatrist, I can understand why he acted the way he did. He's concerned about you and lacks any form of understanding of human emotions. Or at least, he doesn't care for them unless they can be manipulated in his favour. Which makes me think that he is a...” “Sociopath?” A high functioning one, like that other Holmes he has to deal with for a couple of years now?Greg is forced to take a couple of days off and cannot shake the feeling that Mycroft has something to do with it. Which he totally does, I mean, it's the elder Holmes we are talking about here.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm back. I know it's been a while but this one needed time. Because of reasons. In the story. Enjoy.
> 
> Also, thanks to "Lucifer" for introducing me to the word "douchenozzle".

“I have to take a leave? Now?”

PC Warren looks up from her computer and nods.

“Yes, apparently you didn't take all of your days last year and since it's almost November...” Well, he had a lot on his plate the last twelve months, including Moriaty, his daughter's escalating puberty and not to forget, his involvement with a certain gentleman, who frowns upon things like “time off”.

“Can't you just arrange it for these days to be paid out? I have at least seven cases.” “No. Department policy. Your job is considered stressful and therefor, holidays are mandatory. Have fun, inspector.” He should really start to read the department emails, and not just open them to make the exclamation mark go away. Or actually listen, when they have meetings instead on catching up on sleep.

“ _Mandatory Fun,_ my second favourite Weird Al album.” “Get out.” She actually swats him with a case file.

“I see that the don't teach respect for superior officers at the academy anymore.” “With all due respect, get out, Sir.” “I could do without the sarcasm, Melanie.”

  
He spends his first evening at home by doing his laundry and catching up on a few TV-Shows. By 10 pm, he is tired out of sheer boredom and goes to bed.

 

The next morning and yes, Greg counts 11.59 still as morning, he goes out to do grocery shopping. Watson calls him, while he's standing in the cereal aisle:

“We have an emergency.” “Hello to you too, John.” He picks up a packet of full fibre cereal with raisins, mostly out of guilt and the need for a new box, and something sugary with cinnamon flavour and little chocolate pieces. For his daughter, obviously.

“Sherlock is unbearable. He really wants you to get him on this case.” “I'm on holiday right now, I'm officially not involved in any cases. I guess you have to wait until I return.” John is quiet for a few seconds.

“You... You haven't heard?” No, he will not bite. For once, he will enjoy his time off, even if it was mandatory and don't give a damn about anything else but that.

“No, and I'm also not interested, so if you want something from me, I'm back on the sixth. Have a nice day.” To reward himself for his dedication to the concept of a holiday, he buys a bottle of Whiskey and the biggest can of Ravioli he can find.

 

On his way home, his phone beeps, to inform him of a text message. The tone tells him, it is from Mycroft:

“ _Enjoying your days off, inspector?”_

Approximately six days after they've became a couple, Greg stopped wondering how Mycroft knows his whereabouts at any given time. He assured him that it had nothing to do with spy software in his phone but he didn't buy it, until Greg was given a very detailed listing of his day-to-day habits:

“If you are not at the station or a crime scene, you are at home. Unless it is Thursday, Friday or Sunday around seven. Then you are playing football. You always get a coffee before work and go shopping for groceries half an hour after you left the office. You are a creature of habit and therefore, a spy software would be a waste of time and in your words “fucking creepy”.”

He stops to answer the text and sits down at a bench in front of a knock-off “Whole Foods”:

“ _Not really. I don't know what to do with all the free-time I have now.”_

“ _It's is just 10 days. You'll survive. But if it is really that hard for you, I could provide you with my company for this evening.”_

“ _No ulterior motives, am I right?”_ He knows that Mycroft is grinning at this very moment. 

“ _Never.” “Then come over around seven. I'll cook something.”_

“ _Something? I do enjoy something. What will you serve with it? Whatever?”_

“ _Another condescending comment about my cooking and you'll get nothing. Or kebab.”_

“ _Then I will hold my tongue. Until seven.”_

“ _Bye.”_

So he enters the fake “Whole Foods” and buys something the butcher describs as the best cut of meat. And who is Greg to argue with a man dressed in a bloody apron called “Sergei”?

***

He has just put the carrots into the pot, when he gets Donovan's phone call:

“Hello, inspector. Enjoying your days off?” “Why is everyone keep asking me that?” _And why do they call me, even though they made me leave in the first place?_

“Because we know you.” “So you think. Yes, I do enjoy it. Is that all you wanted to know?” Donovan is silent for a couple of seconds, like Watson before her, and now he gets nervous:  
“No, I have to tell you something... and I have no idea how you will take it.” “Please don't tell me, that you and Anderson have made it official. I could barely handle you two being subtle.”

He vividly remembers the Christmas party and the storage closet.

“There is nothing... Nevermind. We caught someone two hours ago. It is Emerson.” _Fucks sake,_ he thinks to himself, _I'd rather have you two shag in the closet again, with me in a front row seat._

“Emerson? As in Clive Emerson?” “Yes.”

_A stupid question, really. Which other Emerson would it be? The one from Emerson Lake and Palmer?_

“And you apprehended him this morning, while I was on my leave.” “Sorry, inspector. We got an anonymous tip and found him, alongside his hard drive and a weapon that was used in the Stevenson case a couple of years ago.”

The one were two of his colleagues lost their lives alongside the former detective inspector. The job that he currently has.

“So I will not be involved in the case at any point.” “Of course not... Is something wrong?”

_Yes, a lot of things are wrong. First of all, the coincidences and then the fact that there is someone in his life who has a habit of orchestrating such coincidences._

“I'm just disappointed. Thank you for the information. Take care.”

Greg tosses the carrots into the sink with the pot, grabs the bottle of Whiskey and doesn't even bother to get a glass.

“He didn't. He couldn't...” Even after the bottle has lost half of its content, he refuses to believe it. He checks the clock. Twenty minutes.

“Damn you, Mycroft.”

***

Mycroft let's himself in with the spare key and puts a bottle of wine on the table, right next to the empty Whiskey bottle.

“Did you gave up on cooking and went straight for the aperitif?” Greg dodges the kiss and stares at Mycroft.

“Gregory?” “Sit down.” “What is wrong?” “I said sit down, Mycroft.” He does and his expression is a weird mixture between confused and defensive.

“Clive Emerson.” “Yes?”

“So, you know him.” “Of course I do. He assassinated a high ranking member of a royal Saudi family. And he was captured today, by your department. I thought this would be a reason to celebrate.” Mycroft's body tenses up and Greg knows. But he still needs to hear it for himself.

“I'm not in a very celebratory mood right now, because I got the impression that you had something to do with it. So, are you going to deny it or are you going to tell me the truth?” He's considering it, just for a split second but Greg stares him down, once again.

“I might have been somewhat involved with it.” “Somewhat.” _Bastard._

“We had intel on his whereabouts. When we had confirmation, I made a decision.” _Colossal bastard._

“So, you timed the apprehension of a known assassin, while ignoring the possibility that he could kill another person in the meantime, so I won't be involved in the case whatsoever to keep me out of danger?” “It was not that easy. And no, we didn't endanger civilians. Our contact told us, that Emerson was changing cartels. So he had to lay low until his transition was final. But your safety was indeed a great concern of mine.” Mycroft's confusion has vanished from his face and now the only expression he spots is arrogance. He doesn't need to say it, everything about him screams “I know better than you and you need to acknowledge my brilliance.” Not today, not like this.

“And instead of telling me, what is going on, you decided for me? And you did it in the most condesending-manipulative-infuriating-selfservicing in short Mycroftian way possible.” “Mycroftian is not a word.”

“That's what you took from it, you giant... Douchennozzle!” “Douche... Have you been talking to your daughter?”

“I had to, the obligation of being attached to someone in a loving way. Even if they are unbearable to be around sometimes.” “I did this to protect you. I don't see why you're making such a fuzz.”

“Of course you don't. That's the point. I have to get some fresh air, let yourself out.” Greg grabs his jacket and scarf and slams the door shut. He's sure, his neighbour will complain about the noise as soon as he comes home later.

 

 

The Whiskey was a bad idea, Greg can tell, as soon as the cold air hits his body. He makes the adult decision to not continue on his bender but to talk to someone. Sadly, the only person who knows him and has a distant enough view to give him an honest opinion is Liz. But desperate times and all, so he phones her and makes his way over to her office.

 

“Greg, you look like hell and you smell like a distillery.” “Nice to see you too, Liz.” They hug and he takes a seat, while she rummages through her desk.

“Please, don't take notes.” “And risk a sprained wrist by writing down all your problems? I'm just looking for my glasses.”

“They are on your head, as always.” “Great detective skills, dear. So, tell me, what brings you here?” Instead of formulating an adult sentence, he just blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind:

“My... boyfriend is an arse.” “Which is exactly your type if I might add.”

“You might not. I know that he is difficult, so am I but this time... Doctor patient confidentiality?” “I thought, he was working for the government.”

“What?” “Is he also a doctor?”

“No, I mean, this falls under the confidentiality agreement, right?” Liz rolls her eyes and points to her framed degrees on the wall.

“If you come through this door, this room turns into Las Vegas. Whatever happens there etcetera. Even though you never pay me for my services.”

“Glastonbury 02. I've payed plenty.” “Fair enough, continue.”

“He took me off the force, so I would not be in danger, because of a criminal, who has the habit of disposing of law enforcement officers, that are involved in the case.” “Nighy, Smith and Stonetree. I remember.”

“I do too. Every day, when I look at my office door.” “Greg, I don't know what you want to hear from me.” She's not professional anymore. This is her being concerned for his safety.

“Please, stop looking at me like that.” “Okay, as your psychiatrist, I can understand why he acted the way he did. He's concerned about you and from what you've told me, lacks any form of real understanding of human emotions. Or at least, he doesn't care for them unless they can be manipulated in his favour. Which makes me think that he is a...” “Sociopath?”

_A high functioning one, like that other Holmes he has to deal with for a couple of years now?_

“I wouldn't go that far and certainly not, without having a few sessions with him. He's highly narcissistic, that's true but he cares enough to consider you more than just an affaire. That's my current observation.”

“He doesn't even know why I'm mad!” “Well, have you tried to communicate?”

“That is your helpful advice?” “Be grateful that I do this for free. I usually charge 200 pounds for a session.”  
  
“I wouldn't exactly call it for free. I paid for all of our family holidays.” “And I, in turn raised our daughter and given the fact that she is as stubborn as you, you owe me a trip to the moon and a resort on an Hawaiian island.”

“Sorry. I am just frustrated.” “And passive-aggressive.”

  
“I get it, Liz.” “Do you really? From what you told me about your boyfriend, he makes decisions without bothering to ask you, knows everything better, works too much, completely ignores your input even though you could give him some other perspective... Do I need to continue or would you like to solve the puzzle now?”

“I'm dating myself. Why couldn't I find someone stupid and gorgeous?” “Because people with their own latent narcissistic personalities tend to search for partners who are close to their own way of seeing themselves. And then they lash out, if said partner doesn't bow to their will at any point.”

“Thanks a lot, doctor.” “You want some real advice? Talk to him. He will not apologise.”  
  
“You don't tell me to just leave and be done with the drama?” “No. If you thought the drama was not worth it anymore, you would have left after your first date. He must have something and I'm not just talking about the mindblowing sex you seem to have.”

_Wait, what? When did...? They had a pretty open relationship for a divorced couple but there was no way he..._

“I... I never told you about our sex life.” “Yes, you did. Last month, you called me and demanded that I make an appointment for Mia with a reptile doctor to check her out. And then you rambled on about how much you love squirrels and then proceeded to tell me about your new boyfriend's anatomy.” _Bollocks._

“Someone drugged me.” Is all Greg can think of as a defence. Liz is now grinning from ear to ear and he sincerely hopes her poker face is better, when she talks to real patients. But she is right, he is the only one mature enough in this relationship to sort things out.

***

 

When Greg returns to his place, a couple of hours later – after a futile attempt to see Mycroft at his home – he trips over a pair of shoes.

“Son of a...” “I don't think you should finish that sentence, since you like her so much.” The sound that escapes Greg's mouth is not a yelp. It is a very manly “woah”.

 

“Damn it, Mycroft! Why do you sit in the dark?! You don't need to convince me that you are a vampire.”

“As long as you don't whip out a stake and shove it into me, I think we are good.”

“Lovely image. We need to talk.” Mycroft tenses up and grabs the chair.

“I see.” “Relax, it is not that kind of talk. At least that's not my intention.”

“Then talk. Please.” “I like you, Mycroft, I really do. And I appreciate your concern for my safety... You know what, fuck it. I cannot communicate this in a calm, productive manner. I am furious! You went over my head, you manipulated my life and you didn't even bother to ask me!” “I was just looking out for you.”

If Mycroft tenses up more, Greg is sure that he will break his spine at any moment. But he has to get it all out now. Their relationship would probably not survive another discussion like that, mindblowing sex or not.

“I know! I know you did! I know you didn't mean any harm! It's just how you are! But you know what, this is how I am! I get mad, a lot, especially, when someone tries to micromanage my life! I am a grown man, not a child!” “I never thought you were.”

“Then why are you treating me like one?” “Because I love you, you insufferable... Git!” Leave it to Mycroft to say something so important in a relationship in the most annoyed way ever. But he is not done yet:

“Do you think I like to use government funds and my influence to make your life easier? I loathe to have to call in favours, being in debt to anyone! My position demands for me, to be neutral and untouchable! You compromise me! But you know what, for some reason, I think you are worth it. I don't know why. I never had this with anyone! And I sure as hell will not apologise for it!”

“You... _Love me_?” Instead of being mad about Mycroft's condescending declaration of love, he focuses on the L-word itself. Choices.

“I tolerate your unhealthy obsession with novelty fast food and I spent time in your apartment building that is infested by noise and people. I thought that was a given.”

“Mycroft.” He doesn't know what to say to that. Mycroft let his guard down for him, while insulting him at the same time. He sits down next to him and tries to not feel personally attacked. It is hard but he manages:

“Remember our terrible first date?” “I remember the kebab episode.”

“I asked you, if your in our out. What did you say?” “I said in.”

“Do you still feel the same?” “Of course.” And Greg can tell how annoyed he is, just from admitting it.

“So do I. I think you are worth it. But I'm able to make my own decisions and you need, no I need you to try your best to respect that. Can you do that?”

“I will try my best.” “Are you sure?”

“Gregory.” “Are you sure you will be able to try. For me?” Mycroft turns his face to him:

“My mother yelled at me for 45 minutes today and she used the term “Douchebag”.” “What? Why?” He knows why because he knows Mycroft but his mum of all people?

“I called her. I needed her motherly advice.”

“You... Needed...?” Maybe he should take English courses for immigrants, because this sentence from Mycroft didn't make any sense.

“She told me off. And said, I should consider myself lucky to have you. And... I agree.” Greg takes Mycroft's face into his hands and kisses him. And makes a mental note to send Mrs. Holmes a gift basket.

“I love you too, Mycroft, in case you were wondering. And if you ever feel like telling me, without an in-depth list of what you find annoying about us, fell free to say it.”

And there's the scrunched up nose again, that was his undoing from the start. That vulnerable, sweet expression, that is solely reserved for Greg Lestrade.

 

 

 


End file.
